Sanity's Edge
by Bloody Koalas
Summary: When House contracts a mysterious illness, the life of his team and of his patient could be at risk. Will he do something he'll regret to save those he loves?
1. Discovery

**A/N: Came to me while I was doing science homework. I have a very, very odd muse. At any rate, enjoy!**

**Rating: T, just to be safe.**

**Author: Bloody Koala: Hadley**

Disclaimer: I most certainly do not own the rights to any TV medical dramas. Nope. Not one.

It was sunny, the kind of warm day nobody expected during the bitter-cold winter New Jersey was going through. Apparently, spring had come early, or seemed to at least. But this beautiful change in the weather was definitely not an excuse for a slightly less-sarcastic House.

"Hello, children!" House called out cheerfully as he strode into the room. He was three hours late for work. What else was new? Actually, there was a new alibi this time; one that actually had truth behind it. House's leg had put up a particularly good fight when he woke up that morning, and it had just recently calmed down. Hey, what was three hours of work? The patient would most certainly stay in perfect condition until they started testing her, anyway.

Files were strewn carelessly across the table. Apparently the ducklings had decided to get ahead on their summer reading. "We have a case," muttered Cameron, an expression stating her annoyance with House's absence plastered across her picture-perfect face.

"27 year-old female, presents with hallucinations and seizures." Chase said calmly.

"Cameron: go! Differentials, baby!" House sang out.

"Schizophrenia. Explains the hallucinations and the severe headaches." She spoke calmly, tossing a lock of her lovely brunette hair out of her face. House nodded in acceptance and scrawled her suggestion onto the whiteboard.

"NEXT!" House yelled, intentionally loudly, and Chase shook his head.

"B12 deficiency. It says here that she has celiac disease." Chase said softly, eyes more than half shut.

House cocked his head. "What's the matter, angel? Girlfriend break up with you?"

Chase rolled his eyes in true Foreman-fashion. "Shut up, House."

Foreman interrupted with his differential. Chase flashed him a 'thank-you' face. "Could have a brain aneurysm,"

House shook his head mockingly. "Just like the neurologist. Jump straight to all the brainy stuff. Hey, leave some fun for the rest of us, why don't you?" Foreman didn't reply. House marked it down as a personal victory. "Cameron: get some blood drawn and do some cool tests on it. Chase, go with Cameron. And get his folic levels checked, too."

"It's a her." Foreman stated.

"Whatever. Like that'll help me diagnose her. And… let's see, who am I forgetting? Oh, yes! Foreman, do a CT. Go on, run along!"

House waited until they left before sitting down and grabbing his thigh. What was wrong with it today? The pain shot through his whole body like the plague. It was as if someone had decided to set his leg on fire.

The vicodin was his desk. In the other room. A futile attempt to retrieve them was foiled upon standing. The pain was remarkably intense, and it hurt to even think about moving.

Let's see…could he call Wilson to get his pills? No. He would get all 'parental' on him. That was definitely not going to happen. Hmmm. House relinquished his previously protective hopes. He had to get that vicodin.

Standing up led to a wave of nausea plus the added disadvantage of zero leg support. He literally dragged himself to his desk, and then House grabbed the bottle. Down the hatch went four pills, dry-swallowed in the usual fashion.

Even after five minutes, the pills still weren't helping. They should've been working, but the pain continued to gnaw on his leg like a pit bull. And House was starting to feel very sick.

Wilson sat at his desk, hand already pinching the bridge of his nose. Migraine time. Suddenly, his pager went off. Wilson angrily pulled in out of his lab coat, terribly annoyed to be interrupted by such a loud noise. And the fact that the sender of the dreadfully important message was House didn't help, either.

He was almost going to ignore the call, but there was a slim chance House actually needed him. So, much to his working-self's dismay, Wilson's conscience took over and pulled him out of his office, straight down the halls to the Diagnostic department.

"House…you'd better not be fooling around with me—" Wilson broke off in horror. He had arrived in House's office just in time to catch the man as he fell to the floor, sweat laden across his face. "House!"

House's body tensed, and he screamed a scream louder and fiercer than any before it. It cut through Wilson's consciousness. "Let GO of me!" House whimpered. Wilson dropped him in shock, and his body rolled on the floor.

"God, House! What happened?"

"Hurts like…vicodin…don't touch me…please…please! Go away…get out of here…" and that was all House managed to get out before he fell unconscious, two feet from his best friend's open arms.

**Like it? Please review…reviews are chicken soup for the writer's soul!**


	2. Tearful Eyes

**A/N: Sorry about the formatting error…I only noticed it when I posted it…**

**Thank-you for the reviews!**

**I am REALLY sorry about how short this chapter is. I have had a lot going on, school-wise, and it's hard to keep up. But I'm sure you all know that.**

**I really don't know where this story is headed…and something tells me that there will be an alternate ending. **

**Warning: When people are sad, they sometimes do rash things. **_**Very**_** bad things.**

**Disclaimer: If David Shore were a kid, he wouldn't be me.**

Her head moved away from the microscope. Those eyes were onto something bigger and better: staring down Chase. "Chase." Cameron stated simply, trying to learn what had pissed him off today. Obviously, House hadn't exactly been gentle about whatever it was…so, did he have a girl friend? Only one way to find out.

His blue-green eyes met Cameron's, and he searched across her face for a signal. A motive. "Yes?"

"What's up?"

"Aren't you a little old for that?"

"No, I mean _what's up_ with you today? Why were you so…what's wrong?"

Chase shifted nervously. He didn't want to talk about what had happened the previous night. And he didn't have to, because at that very moment, in true doctor-dramatic fashion, their pagers went off. It was from…Wilson? Why would he call them? Usually he needed to talk to House, who never answered his pager, so he just went straight to House's office. But Chase froze at what he read next. And, however medically improbable it was, his heart seemed to stop. Because the pager earnestly read _House, ICU, Code Blue_. Cameron tearfully fled the room, leaving the emotionally unstable Chase only one option: follow her.


	3. Stability

**A/N: I am sorry for the wait, really truly sorry…but that's how I work. Very. Slowly.**

**As of now, Marie is officially co-authoring this fic with me (Hadley).**

**Disclaimer: I have a little dreidel, I made it out of clay, but when I wished to own House, fate said 'no' that day… (Alright. I'm a terrible rhymer. But I wanted to include the dreidel part...dreidels are cool!)**

James Wilson paced the tiled floor, his footsteps echoing through the hallway of the ICU. This would never have happened if it weren't for him. Wilson hadn't believed House. And now he was unconscious. For no reason. But obviously, there was a reason, there always was, the pathway of finding it just usually happened to be insanely hard to find.

Cuddy burst through the doors, worriedly, nervously, unlike her usually strong and sufficient self. "What the_ hell_ is going on?" Her voice softened as she looked into Wilson's angry, terrified eyes. They looked...inexperienced. Young. "Wilson? Do you know anything yet?"

He shook his head. "No. But I… I know that none of it makes sense. One minute he's drinking coffee and yelling at Chase, the next he's on the floor, unconscious."

She nodded sympathetically, expertly containing her own emotions: Her fear, her shock, her morbid impatience with Dr. Parker from the ICU. As if answering to her annoyances, Dr. Parker crept out the ICU doors into the normally frantic room. "We have him stable, Dr. Wilson, but he isn't waking up. We still don't know what's causing him to remain unconscious."

Wilson slunk into his waiting-room-chair, a plastic one that squeaked when he moved. His face pale, like a ghost. "Can I…see him?"

Dr. Parker shifted nervously. "I'm sorry, Dr. Wilson, but I don't think that's the best idea right now." Wilson nodded sadly, slinking even lower into his chair. If that was possible.

Cuddy decided her intimidating voice should have its own spotlight. In true 'I'm in charge' fashion, the Dean added, "But I'm _sure_ that we could make an exception in this case, don't you, Dr. Parker?"

Dr. Parker replied, "Dr. Cuddy, are you sure that is the best idea? His heart just stopped, and we don't know why yet. He won't be able to communicate, either."

Cuddy smiled gently at Wilson. "I'm sure. Come on, Dr. Wilson."

Dazed by the sudden turn of events in his life, it was all Wilson could do to follow the determined woman ahead of him, remarkably similar to another situation in a lab station not so far away.

* * *

Cameron slid down the halls, her flat shoes squeaking quietly as she did so. Chase followed at her heels, entranced by what had happened. Was their patient in the ICU? Why, then? Why hadn't she just stayed in her own room? Why did Wilson know about it? Did she have cancer? Or was House being unreasonable? Or both?

And so, as obvious as the situation seemed to our favorite little brunette, the Aussie only caught on as they were rounding the bend into the ICU. And then they saw him—Wilson, nervous like they'd never seen him before. Pacing. Internally scared. Heck, externally scared. He looked nothing like the Boy Wonder Oncologist, just a Boy, or perhaps a frightened puppy. Timid and terrified.

They watched as the scene unfolded. A doctor in scrubs running out through the sliding doors. Wilson sullen. Cuddy using her administrative powers for good instead of evil. And then the ironically happy oncologist as he rushed into the room, House's room.

And they took their chance. They wanted to follow Wilson into what seemed to be House's room. Chase took the lead this time. So he was the first, besides Wilson, to see why most people didn't like hospitals. Because of what the patients look like.

* * *

Wilson stared, agape, at House. His expression. It hurt to look. It looked like it hurt.

House's face was contorted, like he was suffering the worst migraine that ever occurred. But Wilson knew it was probably his leg. His leg! Those idiots! They hadn't even given him a pain reliever! He was feeling the pain; and it hurt as much as ever. But House couldn't stop it because he was _unconscious_. Wilson started to release a string of colorful and somewhat irrelevant curses when he was suddenly interrupted by a young doctor's footsteps outside the door.

Chase jumped in the room, his heart beating faster than he though possible. And then his heart stopped. Or seemed to, anyway. Because as he gazed upon House's face, it was obvious he was far from comfortable. The older doctor's expression was a tortured, strained one. Chase hadn't seen him look this bad since the infarction…so could this be a relapse? After a minute of pondering, Chase came to a negative conclusion. A blot clot couldn't cause him to lose consciousness, nor would one 'relapse'. And that's when it hit him: even unresponsive, House's pain was still an issue. His doctors hadn't given him any painkillers whatsoever, and so that was why he looked like he was going to die. The pain from the fall must've been enormous. Hatred filled Chase's mind. Hatred for the idiot doctors who didn't bother to read in his file that House had chronic pain and needs meds. Now.

This time was spent quietly until Cameron crept in, and Chase decided it was time to get Cuddy. To tell her about House's need for meds. The ones his doctors had inconveniently not given him. He met her gaze as he strode out quietly. She didn't return the favor.

And so he left, leaving Wilson alone with Cameron. On the other hand, Wilson was completely alone, because Cameron's presence was nearly undetectable. She didn't want to be detected. Silent tears fell softly down her face, and Wilson reached out. Cameron drew back, instantly silencing her emotions, and stared at House with unbelievable seriousness.

_I tried too soon,_ Wilson thought. _It was too fast. _

The immunologist and the oncologist spent the better part of an hour in that room, standing next to his friend and her boss. This period of depressed serenity was broken as a familiar high pitched whine filled the room. Pagers. Their pagers. Of course, the sender was a certain Dean of who we all know has an atrocious taste in clothing. She needed them both. Now.


	4. Somnolence

**A/N: Sorry. But as I said before, I work slowly. **

**Disclaimer: If my name were David Shore, I would own House. But it isn't, so I don't.**

Cuddy quietly opened the glass doors of her dark, cool office and stood against her desk. Foreman and Chase followed suit, their eyes focused on the door, their minds full of fear and apprehension. Finally, the last two doctors on House's new 'team' arrived. Cameron slid past Wilson and into the room, her eyes brimming with cold tears. Wilson was wearing his regretfully classic 'I'm sorry, you have cancer,' face as a mask for feelings even he couldn't identify.

Cuddy cleared her throat. "We need to know what's going on, and you've all been witness to House's...life over the past few days. You're all on the case. Come on."

Foreman expressionlessly nodded with such a small motion those who were watching doubted one had even occurred. He strode out of the room, heading to the whiteboard, his impressive gait hiding his true feelings. It was far too ironic: the diagnostic has a disease no one could figure out. This sort of thing never happens in real life, and it was way beyond the end of his comfort zone. But, of course, whatever House has is probably drug-related, or else something really simple.

Chase set his head down, golden locks swaying with the movement of his hurried walking. Cameron was one step behind him, and following her were the assorted doctors of pre-determined status, each of whom wanted answers. Now.

Wilson uncapped the marker and poised it for action. "We need symptoms, people."

Chase answered. "Well, today he seemed like he was in more pain than usual. But that might not even be a symptom."

Wilson shook his head. "No, it counts. We need all the symptoms we can get." In handwriting only a doctor could understand, 'leg pain' was scrawled onto the board.

Cuddy racked her brain for anything, _anything_ that might have been out of place the past few days. Sure, he'd been a selfish bastard, but that wasn't new. Unfortunately. House had commented about her ass, and metaphorically compared it to Mt. Everest, but generally nothing out of the ordinary. Hmm…was he acting differently in the clinic? Yes, he was…but it was such an odd observation that she hadn't paid it any attention yesterday. The pacing administrator spoke up, breaking the sad silence that filled the room. "He's favoring his left side."

Wilson's brow furrowed in thought and confusion. Finally, he voiced the opinion of the whole room. "What do you mean?"

Cuddy paused, carefully reviewing her answer. "Every other day or so, I observe him in the clinic. Yesterday, House wouldn't do a single thing with his right arm, and he limped a lot heavier than usual."

Cameron frowned. "Maybe it's not favoritism. Maybe its weakness."

Chase picked it up. "So that could mean that pain isn't a symptom after all—it was just his leg working harder."

Foreman stared at the whiteboard. The differential was going nowhere, and tests would obviously be needed to go further. "Maybe it's neurological,"

Cuddy walked over to the whiteboard, facing her 'class'. "We need to do some testing. Dr. Cameron: get some blood work. Dr. Chase, do a tox screen, and check for all the routine stuff. Dr. Foreman, search his house. And Dr. Wilson, do an MRI of his—"

A man pushed through the door as if it were air, interrupting Cuddy's demands. "We have a problem," said the man, who was recognizable as Dr. Parker.

"Dr. House is comatose."


	5. Lucidity

**A/N: All right, readers. I actually have free time this weekend, so I finally get to update.**

**By: Hadley (unfortunately, however, we're both slow)**

**Disclaimer: This morning, I looked in the mirror, and guess what? I'm not David Shore.**

**Disclaimer 2: Listen, everyone! Just because I live in NY doesn't mean I can't love the Patriots! Go New England! (Even if we **_**don't**_** win the Superbowl.)**

Wilson stared at the blank form of everyone's favorite narcissistic diagnostician. The hospital gown hung oddly of his limp body.

_House can't be sick,_ Wilson thought. _I would've known about it. He can't be hiding anything. _A patient knock on the door followed by the soft clicking of heels interrupted his wavering thoughts.

"Dr. Wilson," Cuddy spoke in a gentle tone, like she was comforting a patient. Or the patient's family. "Would you like Dr. Cameron to do the MRI?"

Wilson inhaled sharply. "No. I'll do it." Cuddy nodded lightly, leaving the room without another word. No more needed to be spoken. Actually, plenty did. But the frightened oncologist would incorrectly interpret anything else she said.

* * *

Foreman wiped his hands on his pants and looked around House's dreary, messy apartment. His boss was an ass, but his apartment was really out-of-control. Clothes lay scattered across the floor; beer sat warm and flat on the kitchen counters; the TV table had a thick layer of dust on it, and the remote control shared similar apparel. Whatever the man had been doing the past couple of days/weeks, it didn't appear he cared about hygiene or catching up with General Hospital.

The light switch was hidden behind a bottle of vodka, and Foreman didn't notice either. The room remained a dark cave, with only the occasional sunbeam for light. He continued his journey, peeking under every randomly placed object on the floor and couch.

Foreman knew House liked to play the piano. But as he gazed at the instrument sitting against the wall, he started to have second thoughts. The keys looked as if they hadn't been pressed in ages. What did that mean? It could be that House merely grew bored of the piano. But given the ransacked state of his apartment, and House's current medically unjustified coma, Foreman didn't think so. Either it was hard to play, or it was hard to read the music…so did he have an eye problem? Either way, both problems just screamed, "I'm neurological!"

The rest of House's apartment, including the bedroom (disheveled as the rest of the apartment) was clean…in the medical sense of the word. As in, no drugs scattering the floors, no syringes hidden behind the toilet, no mysterious papers littering the desk. Damn. It would make it a whole lot easier if there was blatant evidence. But House was smart enough to know that his fellows are smart, too.

* * *

Cameron's hair was pulled into a tight bun above her head. Her eyes were anxiously locked in position—staring down into a microscope, that is. Searching, searching. Checking and rechecking the centrifuge. Running various tests of little or no value, all for House. This wasn't right. House was too strong to be sick. But somewhere in the depths of her clichéd soul, Cameron knew that diseases picked on whomever they wanted. 

Cautious blue-green eyes took a break from their work and glanced up at Cameron's hunched, tired figure. Chase knew she hadn't had much sleep over the whole thing, and the worn expression on her face was enough to convince him he had to step in. "Hey," he ventured, straightening out the tox screen papers he was reviewing.

Cameron shifted her gaze and met her colleague's eyes. "Decreased white count, but other than that, nothing."

Chase nodded slowly. "That could mean anything." Cameron's eyes began to creep back towards the microscope. He couldn't let her do this—she'd be wasting her time on something she'd already proved wasn't there. "You really need to go home and get some rest."

She shook her head and blinked sleepily. "No, I couldn't—"

Chase intercepted. "It wasn't a question. I'm five seconds away from calling Cuddy. Who would you rather deal with?"

Cameron turned back to her work. She _wasn't _leaving.

Chase shook his head. He knew that all tries to remove her would be futile, so he turned around and let her work in peace. Just five more minutes.

* * *

Wilson took his seat behind the glass doors of the MRI room. Where House was, getting an MRI. He wished he didn't have to do it, be the doctor in charge, but House wouldn't have had it any other way. 

The machine's noise hurt his head, pounding and crashing, like he was the one getting an MRI. Wilson's hand flew up to the bridge of his nose, where the pain could abide, at least with the proper positioning.

Slice after slice, slide after slide, each piece was the same. Completely and utterly normal. Irrelevant, in other words.

Why hadn't House come to him with this? Wilson felt as if House had ripped his heart out. House could trust him! _I care!_ Why did House see the need to hide it? But, of course, that couldn't be. House wasn't hiding anything. Why had Wilson even thought that? No, House had no idea what was going on. Spur-of-the-moment disease. Obviously.

But Wilson's thought train was shattered when a noise echoed out of the machine. "Wil-son!" The familiar sound both overjoyed and depressed Wilson.

He was un-comatose now? After just a few hours?

"I'm getting out now!" House shouted. Wilson sighed. The MRI had just begun, and he had so much left to cover.

He hoped House would cooperate later. Otherwise, he had no problem with getting a sedative ready.

The diagnosis must go on.


	6. Fragility

**A/N: Awfully sorry about the wait. I appreciate your patience. This chapter will be a filler, just to get you back on track.**

**Disclaimer: Getting tired of inventing witty and imaginative phrases. So, in case you haven't gotten it yet, I don't own House. So, there.**

Wilson stepped briskly into the conference room, which was occupied by the whole 'team'. Foreman straightened in his chair and began. "He hasn't cleaned his apartment or played the piano in a while. It's probably neurological."

_And you're surprised about his messiness and unpredictability…why?_ Wilson bit his tongue.

Cuddy nodded at Chase, who spoke of his findings. "Nothing abnormal in the tox screen. Except, of course, the heavy usage of Vicodin." He glanced down the table to Cameron, about to mention her findings (or rather, non-findings) from the blood tests when he noticed how horrible she looked. Her fatigued face was propped up on her hands, and shimmery caramel hair waved in front of her eyes. This level of anti-energy far surpassed her tiredness in the lab the night before. Passed it by a long shot. "Allison." Chase's words came out in a ratio somewhere between 'whisper' and 'hiss'. Probably more hiss than whisper. "Allison. Go home and get some rest. Go lie down in the lounge. Go to sleep."

She shifted in her seat. Wilson rattled off his inconclusive findings, announcing to the crowd about the unfortunate awakening of their patient. Cuddy sighed. Chase tightened his gaze.

Cameron motioned to Chase that she was leaving. She did seem rather tired lately, didn't she? It was funny; she didn't even stay up all that late. Maybe she really did need that couch. She stood abruptly, eager for the peace.

_Ouch! _Cameron didn't realize exactly _what_ was painful all of the sudden until she noticed that she was on the floor. And unable to get up. Medically, her symptoms fit with his. Muscle weakness—her legs wouldn't hold her up.

Chase bit his lip to stifle his gasp. He noticed, too.

The equation was not a promising one: 1 illness - 2 diagnosticians ( plus everybody lies) equals an elusive and unsteady diagnosis.


	7. Brightness

**A/N: Hello, people! Please avert your eyes to the adjacent text, consisting of the please-don't-sue-me disclaimer and the next chapter of Sanity's Edge. Really, really short because I want to start the next chapter with Cameron and her miserable ailment.**

**Disclaimer: This morning, I woke up in tears. I've been living a lie—I'm not David Shore after all! I **_**don't**_** own House! **

House was sitting unhappily (or rather, was strapped down with some restraints Cuddy ordered he have) in his hospital cot, squirming in attempt to free himself. It wasn't working. He groaned and set his head down in defeat. The lights flickered uncomfortably above him. House slammed his eyes shut. They were very irritating. Suddenly, Wilson burst into the room, his head visibly spinning. He stammered out the latest medical breakdown. "Cameron's a patient now. Her legs won't hold up any pressure. We think she has what you do."

House unnoticeably filed Cameron's symptoms away into his head before interrupting Wilson's report. "Hey! Get someone to fix these damn lights. They're giving me a headache."

Wilson's mouth dropped open. "Your employee just _collapsed_ with the same illness that could be killing you and you're not at all concerned for her?"

House shrugged as well as he could with the restraints. "She's already sick. Where's the use in caring now?"

"You're an ass, House. Do you know that?" But House wasn't listening. Rather, he was staring at the cleavage of a quickly moving Cuddy, who was steadily making her way down the hallway and into House's room.

She screamed. "House! Cameron—" Wilson shut her up with a sigh. House was glad—that shockingly high voice was the last thing he needed.

House stared at her. "What do you want me to do?"

"Well, I—"

"Um, no. Rhetorical, Cuddy. Rhetorical." House paused to take a breath; one he was sure he wouldn't have normally needed. The room was spinning, and Cuddy's voice was much too loud. He lowered his voice to a whisper. "What tests have you done?"

Cuddy stood up straighter, her face somewhat twisted. _Why is he whispering?_ She shrugged it aside somewhat disappointedly and replied. "None. I thought—"

House's eyes clamped shut. Maybe he could block out her voice with his eyelids? "Stop thinking, start doing. Run an MRI and get some blood work." Wilson thought about arguing with House's impudence, but put the urge aside. He wasn't in the mood to discuss what was killing his best friend and one of his colleagues.


End file.
